Wednesday, December 24, 2008

On the Eve of the Feast of the Incarnation


I can't wait to be a parent. I mean...I CAN wait, but I'm excited to be a parent. Knowing the reality of new life in such a concrete, intimate way would make the Incarnation explode off the page. I am frequently made speechless by the thought of God condescending to our world as "that guy, over there." As fully grown, jewish guy-over-there.

But God-as-infant is still so abstract. and God-as-infant loved in the way a mother and father love a baby? Mysterious and not in a good, awful religious way. God as a tiny little ball of tears and poop and need? Unfathomable in the truest sense.

Incidentally, I'm also excited to be married, to enter into the fullness of Christ's unity with the Church. If man and woman become "as one flesh," how much more does a Church-body become the body of Christ!?

It sounds so phony-pious, but I live to be struck by the beauty of Incarnation and (re)Incarnation. It makes the banality and the boredom and the pain fit into the world more gently.

- - - - -



I'm feeling, for the first time since I left home to go study, like I'm not at home at home. I've spent enough time in a different community with different concerns and different influences that I don't make so much sense here. I find myself standing around quietly while everyone else goes about their way of being in their world. When I do pipe in, its either to make a wise crack or to rant briefly about something I find particularly interesting. The latter gets blank stares or replies that show little understanding of what I'm driving at.

I've told people often that the reason people who engage in philosophy are fundamentally confused. When you get really good at argument, you find yourself arguing with yourself in such a way that every position is either equally valid or equally ludicrous. The staunch and the intense intellectual positions are put forward w/ such force because they cover...or, lets say, accommodate an underlying suspicion that they are completely baseless.

That fundamental confusion is an odd thing. It leads us, in our weaker moments (which are most of them) to want everyone to share our confusion. So, there is this impulse to dismantle the self-certainty of most people, which we take for thoughtlessness. Largely, because it is thoughtlessness, most of the time.

At root, we think "They sound so sure, but I know that if you lean on any position w/ a little intellect, it fucking crumbles. How dare they enjoy their false certainty!"

Its ugly when that impulse, already dubious, gets turned on ones home community. Its an un-enviable posture.

- - - - -


Behold, the glory of God become man, that we may know we are love and never be alone.

Merry Christmas.

Monday, December 22, 2008

Happy Holy-Days from the big CA

Six hour flights can be nine hour flights. All you have to do is fly north of Michigan and Wisconsin in order to get from New York's JFK to Oakland, making a stop in Salt Lake City to refuel. Its easy.

Four hour lay-overs are still four hour lay-overs. They are little less when you can spend too much money and get a massage in the airport. That's very helpful.

and when some indie looking girl from the area asks for you phone number. "So, are you in New York regularly?"

Sorry sweetheart, I'm really not.

- - - - -

No more dialogue to report. She's just stopped returning calls. One more phone call in a few weeks and then the number gets deleted. For my sanity, primarily.

and then we hope I don't run into her at some fucking bar.

and I'm still SO disappointed. *sigh*

Text message last night. There's another guy. Not surprised. Glad to know. Fairly bummed.

- - - - -

This weekend I: Helped my parents move. Fired a .50 cal rifle. Watched a documentary about old people singing new(ish) songs. Played lazer tag. Went bar hopping. Bought really skinny, scott weiland style slacks. Went to church without spending much time in church. Talked about Boston and the people its full of. Found out I got straight A's in my first semester at BC.

- - - - -

No pictures in this entry. The internet connection I'm on is precluding it. Updates might be few and far between for a week or two.

Snowboarding tomorrow. I'm scared of how out of shape I am...

Monday, December 15, 2008


In 30 minutes, I face all of my Hegel anxieties:
My paper isn't good/what he's looking for/right about anything. I don't really know this text because I didn't really read that much of it. I suck at reading real philosophy.

An hour after that, I get to face all my Kant anxieties. They are fewer:
I didn't care about this as much as I should have.

Then we're in get-the-heck-outa-dodge mode. Put a movie on. Clean. Pack. Clean. Listen to David Milch. Clean. Pack. Clean.

- - - - -

4 people. 2 Bedroom apartment. 2 Weeks.

There are other arrangements I'd prefer:

- - - - -

"Even a fool gets to be young once."

Sunday, December 14, 2008

The Further Away Solution


Turn and be healed
Let him who stole no longer steal
Oh Israel, Surrender to Jehovah, Israel.


- - - - -

Bob: But I'm not hungry

Don: It makes no earthly difference in the world. You know how many nutritive benefits they got in coffee? Zero. Not one thing. The stuff eats you up. You can't live on coffee, Bobby. (And I've told you this before.) You cannot live on cigarettes. You may feel good, you may feel fine, but somethings getting overworked. And you are going to pay for it. Now, what do you see me eat when I come in here everyday?

Bob: Coffee.

Don:Come on, Bob, don't fuck with me. I drink a little coffee...but what do I eat?

Bob: Yogurt.

Don: Why?

Bob: Because its good for you.

Don: You're goddamn right. And it wouldn't kill you to take a vitamin.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Has names, such as enemies.


The sun has been streaming light in through my windows all day, different angle by different angle, until the golden yellow wash is only a hue across the shades and the dirty window screens. At one point I took a walk to escape its deceptive illumination, stopping only for coffee and to realize I wasn't going anywhere in particular. I know exactly what I should be doing and that's precisely what I would never do on a day like today.

Studying the Transcendental Dialectic is fine as long as no one in authority is saying you should. Moreover, I won't be cleaning today. Ancillary writing projects have been opened, stared at and closed repeatedly. "I made lunch," is the day's accomplishment.

She hasn't called me.

Neither has she.

The songs I hear are more complicated than sad.

- - - - -


"I'm not much, but I'm all I think about."

- - - - -

There is, in the tragic, the humanization of the despicable. If sin is just the transgression of a rule, and Original Sin means we must transgress the rule(s), then tragedy is the human condition. There is only the interminable dissonance of moral demand and human action. The Law and the people, fundamentally at odds.

Grace, more than the erasure of the atomized transgression of a rule, might be the meta-melody harmonizing the melody of The Law and the melody of human life under a new, fuller tune. An orchestration of the diverse and polymorphous forms of human moral destitution.

All good deeds contain in them no purity of motive.

Every misdeed is, at root, a pursuit of our only pure motive.

Gnosticism was never a satisfying option.

"The reconciling yes...is the determinate being of an 'I' expanded into duality." G.W.F. Hegel, The Phenomenology of Spirit, Chapter six, Paragraph 671.

- - - - -

"Alive With The Glory Of Love," Say Anything (Thanks, John B)


Even the least sophisticated (and marginally obscene) sexual expression, can, by the principles of its association to a context, be found to contain the loftiest of human truths.

- - - - -

The Derridians in my life (thanks again, John B) have convinced me; I'm so over the (fancifully nostalgic) obsession with purity. Lets find the redemptive harmonization of life, in its fullness, instead.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Anti-Hegel, Anti-Ugg, Anti-Zombie



The fundamental crazy is what makes it all possible. These felt experiences of my own motivational systems, prior to thought or theory, are limiting in the sort of way that creates possibilities. Opens up vistas of happenings (as received) and doings (as offered). But these are my limitations, too. The extraneous limitations, taken into myself like a foreign substance as a super-ego'd voice, are what hinder. The standards that are not my own messy boundaries are the ones that I cannot conceive of meeting spontaneously, and so I "tactically" scheme my way to their satisfaction.



But unfortunately, I can't really do that because if I'm motivated by the projected idea of what "they" want, I never do anything. The utter paralysis of perfectionism claws its way through my motivation and cripples the fibers of its muscle.



So, we need to listen to the crazy that tells me what I can and might like to do. and to the God who harmonizes my crazy with the totality of possibility in His world and through His strength. Work can be prayer, and prayer oughtn't be work.

- - - - -

"You aren't a worrying person are you?" she asked, more seriously than expected. "No, not usually." I replied. Was I lying?

Later:
"I must sound SO lazy! I'm really not. I work very hard. I just like to shut my brain off sometimes." She said, correcting the impression. "Maybe you can show me how to do that..." I joked. Maybe.
"Does that big brain never turn off?"
"No, not really. Always running on something."
"Well, a TV will help with that."

I'm rambling from the caffeine and David Mamet wasn't as interesting tonight as previously. Will Bob ever get Teach coffee? Who knows!

- - - - -


and not an ugg boot, a Northface fleece or an over-exposed ass cheek in sight. Thanks, Sartorialist.

- - - - -

Got zombie problems?

Not anymore you don't!

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Heaven and Hell

*update* S'more Pop-tarts are WAY better than Chocolate Fudge Pop-tarts. I mean, WAY better. *update*

Further obligatory end-o-semester stuff-to-do run down:
- Final Kant synopsis: Done
- Hermeneutics of Fiction paper and presentation: Done
- Hegel Presentation: Done
- Hegel and Fichte paper: still reading and need to start WRITING! It's due friday

Also:
- Kant written exam: should probably study.
- Hegel Oral exam: likely won't study.

- - - - -

She'd open her eyes and I'd be staring, but in a nice way. "What're you thinking about?" she wanted to know. "That I'm glad you're here. I wondered when you might be," I confessed. "What are YOU thinking about?" I wondered next. "Nothing..." she muttered sleepily, "I'm glad I'm here too."

The train rattled by for the first time in hours, ringing its bell for the pedestrians who keep their iPods at a reasonable volume.

- - - - -

"Were you in the shit?"

"...yeah, I was in the shit."

Pass me another double-mint oreo and let's feel more guilty about the N-word. Or less. I'm not sure.

- - - - -

Someone convince me to write a play about Schelling and his shenanigans. It'd be good, I bet. Home-wreckers and those in complicity make good drama.

- - - - -

For all who care:

Leave Boston on Wed. morning, the 17th of Dec.
Leave the Bay Area on Dec. 31st and arrive in Chicago around midnight. happy new year.
Leave Chicago on Jan. 7th for New York.
Head back to Boston from New York on Jan 11th.

Godspeed.

Friday, December 5, 2008

en la lluvia me prometistes tu sangre

All I want right now, other than to eat cookies for breakfast, is to take the longest, hottest shower ever known to man. I need this. Spiritually and existentially, this shower was supposed to cleanse a mess of the worlds sins against me. 4am bed-time and late-night upset-sister phone call and a crew of we-make-secrets-not-friends dance partners and lingering-mystery-text-message (which is not even to mention how much beer I had spilled on me last night). And I woke up at 9, which does not qualify as "sleeping in" for a 4am bed time. And I woke up w/ the by-product of my protestant up-bringing, which is mystery-guilt-about-nothing-in-particular.

And my hair is SO greasy.

And now, lyrics by The Mars Volta:
sutured contusion/ beyond the anthills of the dawning of this plague / said I've lost my way / even if / this cul de sac would pay / to reach inside a vault whatever be the cost / sterling clear / blackened ice

And now, the rest of my story:
So, I crawl out of bed, a meek tremble of a sarcophagus form, and gather my clothes for the day and examine the unruliness of my eye-brows on the mirror. Flip the dial. Switch the shower switch. Glare at myself in the mirror, wondering who this person is, who is/was a lossless cd recording of myself. Touch the flow.

COLD. Not chilling tap-water cold, but just flacid-heat-source cold. Dull back-yard pool cold.

Bring-me-hot-water-or-your-life dial to 11. Something that quite entirely unlike warmth. I can't shower in this shit.

Now I'm moping about it on the internet. Waiting. Wanting.

In Conclusion, Ladies and Jelly-Spoons, More Lyrics by The Mars Volta:
Spilling from morgue lancet / Caressed your fontanelle / I've sworn to kill every last one / Every last one / Panic in the shakes of the wounded / Panic in the worms / Onto the floor / And out of your mouth

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Humble Thyself, Oh Spirit

Hegel was such a good protestant. He recognizes that communities make moral rules for themselves and they are un-reflectively certain about what those rules are and how to apply them. "That's just how we do things around here," after all. It's just obvious. And some people are just going to do whatever they want anyways, and then talk a good game, appealing to the communities rules in their speech alone.

And others are going to look at those 'evil' people and say, "hey, you're breaking the rules! and worse, you're appealing to the rules to try to say that you aren't!" The problem is, the people making that judgment are so concerned with their own moral purity that they only ever talk about the rules anyways. They never do anything, good or bad, for fear of sullying their morally pristine souls. Their 'beautiful souls.'

So, the 'evil' person looks at the judging person and sees the they aren't that different from themselves. They are just another person hoping that talking about morality is the same as actually being moral. So, they confess to the judging person;

"yeah, I'm evil and hypocritical...just like you."

and it turns out that the only way out of this little conflict is for each person to be humble and recognize that they are only an aspect of the Truth, the Truth that resides in communities. In doing so, they can forgive the other and be reconciled to them. and then the spirit of the community can be itself in a truly human way.

But the answer is humility and forgiveness.

Hegel isn't wrong about that.

In other news, girls at Boston College need to figure out that those weird heavy leggings/stretch pants things are not to be worn as outerwear. Under a skirt: fine. Even a really, really short skirt or a long, crotch-covering t-shirt is better than full-on youthful ass exposure. I'm trying to learn here!

Skinny jeans tucked into these new-fangled, wellington-style fitted galoshes; ADORIBLE. I approve. w/ a trench coat and knit scarf? EXCELLENT.

And for fuck's sake, let's not let the sweat-pants leave the gym or the apartment, plz? Either gender, really.

I'd like to, at this point, thank the internet for easing procrastination so elegantly. Kant and Girard and Fichte are justifiably ignored at the moment, and its all thanks to you! Keep up the good work, World Wide Web!

Also, (speaking of distractions) I got a new David Milch lecture, except this one is on DVD. I haven't watched all of it yet, but I'm excited to digest more of his excellence. I also got a wicked awesome CD by Bring Me The Horizon. They might really hate women, but they are really good at metal. Good thing most of the lyrics aren't at all intelligible. Otherwise I'd feel dirty.

That'll do for now. I'm taking someone cute to see them light up the Christmas tree downtown after class tonight. There will be hot chocolate involved. God help me, there will be hot chocolate.

*update* Date got canceled. Baking cookies cures disappointment paralysis. I hope. *update*

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

a 'LoL' Levity

My sister is a genius.

funny pictures
moar funny pictures

or maybe more like an idiot LoL-vant.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

This is boring. Don't read it.

That flu was accompanied by strep throat, because when it rains, it fucking pours. I didn't see 'outside' for three days, so when I felt marginally human on Thursday, I went to the doctor, got groceries(sorry everyone at Trader Joes, Brookline), cleaned my apartment and did laundry. Staring at the ceiling and trying to discern fever-dreams from reality just isn't that mentally invigorating. I had to do SOMETHING as soon as I was able. If only to get momentum, since I was two days behind at work and a week behind at school...oy, not good timing for this business.

Customary end-o-semester blog listing:
- Presentation for Hermeneutics of Fiction, tonight: Basically Done
- Paper for Hermeneutics of Fiction: 1/3rd done.
- Final Kant Synopsis: Not Started
- Hegel Presentation, due in one week: Barely started
- Hegel Paper: Not started

So, I'm freaking out a little bit. You know, just a little nervous inflammation around the mind and the spirit. The gentle flutter of anxiety-attacks in my chest.

Had a date on Saturday w/ all-night-dancing/late-night-pizza girl from the previous entry. Her name is Katie, by the way. A really, really great date. Thai food and then conversation until the waiter firmly-but-politely asked us to leave. Then dancing w/ friends. I keep trying to write down all her amiable qualities, and it all sounds so cliche (cute, funny, sweet, etc), but suffice to say that I find her quite agreeable so far.

I think it makes her a little nervous that I don't own a TV.

I bought a plane ticket to Chicago for Dec. 31st, so I'll be there at least the first 5 days of January, though I may stay as late as the 10th. Depends on whether I go to New York or not.

This has been a very no-nonsense post. I promise to be back to my artsy-fartsy-ness soon. I'm really just killing time right now while I run virus scans at work.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Anti-Viral Memories

All I wanted was a cranberry and soda, maybe with lime if the bartender doesn't suck. Lindzey's trying the other end of the bar and Christian's got my two bucks. I shouldn't have even been loitering there anyways, but I didn't want to dance alone. The crowd wasn't THAT cool.

And leaning against the bar, we made eye contact.

and eye contact leads to dancing. and dancing to card playing, as the old, Baptist joke goes. Except, replace card playing with late-night pizza, till we're the only two left in the place.

* * * * *

The water is really, really hot and my head is swimming. The muscles in my legs are twitching and my lower back is flaming-red-hot. Usually sitting on the floor of a hot shower relaxes me some, but I can't catch my breath. And my throat's on fire. and I'm afraid I'm going to lose consciousness and drown and how long would my body take to decompose under running water and who would know to come look for me and....

It's 5:45am here. that means 2:45am in California. I know my mom won't care if I call her, but what if she says I need to go to the hospital? who could take me? who could I call? I can't fucking stand up. I'm barely SITTING up.

I'm freaking out here. Waking fever-dream.

* * * * *

Christian went home with a guy that asked if I was single a few weeks ago.

* * * * *

EJ is a Monday-Morning flu-fighting hero. She really DOES believe in hospitality.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Ceasarea, I rule thee.

I finished a book this week and cried myself to sleep. but not bitterly.

At the end of the book, a little boy lies in the ground of a church yard and his pitiable family weeps for him and all his friends swear on the pagan stone, under which maybe he should have been buried, to always remember the sweetness and fierceness of this poor boy.

Certainly we shall rise, certainly we shall see and gladly, joyfully tell one another all that has been...

* * * * *

"You're such a romantic!" she exclaimed.

10 days I'd been awash in a Karamazov-hysteria. Coffee this morning (a monday) was supposed to be the return to prudent stability. Coffee and studies and silent prudence.

Tumbling from my mouth, instead of nothing, was all of tales of the attention I'd lavished on some and sloppily soaked up from others. A porch and chocolate chips and a trembling, timid and innocent risk, until the wee hours of the morning. A green dress and a cold glass on a dance floor, approaching slender arms around a stooped neck, for a fickle moment. Aviation disappointment and exchanged glances in a small, middle-america world. The generally too fucking youthful.

* * * * * *

My notes, now that I'm studying a little each day, are too much. I can't just take "notes." I have to take Notes, of the sort a REAL graduate student takes. I have to do it all. All or nothing.

Why does nothing always win over absolute, comprehensive effort?
Why even ask?

Instead, ask me about the first chapter of Girard's Deceit, Desire and the Novel. If there's something I can't recall, I'll just check my Notes.

* * * * * *

I think I might be ready now.

With a deep breath, I might be ready.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Answering Today's Big Question



Why I Didn’t Vote, ‘08

By Jonathan Heaps

Responsible Americans everywhere are voting today. Here in Boston they have bundled without any real conviction against a mild fall morning, in order that they might stand in line for their turn to participate in our civic process. Starbucks is giving out free coffee if you come into their establishment with your “I voted!” sticker still attached to your lapel. No doubt somewhere, Puff Daddy (or “P-Diddy” or whatever that narcissistic hack is calling himself these days) is wearing a sassy t-shirt encouraging me to “rock” my vote or meet my imminent mortality. Alasdair MacIntyre, four years ago, succinctly addressed our faux-thoughtful support of voting, no matter for whom or what. He said, “For it has become an ingrained piece of received wisdom that voting is one mark of a good citizen, not voting a sign of irresponsibility.” (MacIntyre 2004)

In opposition to such a prevailing view of “the vote,” I’d like to suggest that the sheer thoughtlessness with which we encourage each other to the ballot box qualifies those exhortations as what Martin Heidegger called “idle talk.” It is the chatter of bourgeois ladies chiding the youth of today in concerned tones over tea. Or the self-righteous bombast of middle managers over lunch on the company card. “Vote” is an empty word portraying itself as wisdom, much like “Freedom” has been for the Bush administration and “Hope and Change” have been for the Obama campaign. It is the illusion of discourse. It is in this respect that voting is what is wrong with America.

MacIntyre again:
When offered a choice between two politically intolerable alternatives, it is important to choose neither. And when that choice is presented in rival arguments and debates that exclude from public consideration any other set of possibilities, it becomes a duty to withdraw from those arguments and debates, so as to resist the imposition of this false choice by those who have arrogated to themselves the power of framing the alternatives. (MacIntyre 2004)

And that is why, on this Election Day, I deliberately and thoughtfully did not vote in the presidential election.

My opposition to voting is not an absolute one, predicated on some rejection of formal civic order (anarchism, etc). No, it is contingent, based on the state of our culture of civic involvement. Three contributing factors stand out in particular. MacIntyre’s insight is the first; that we have a moral and civic duty to reject false dichotomies created by those who have unjustly (and uncritically) assumed the “power of framing alternatives.” Secondly, the infantilization of the political process through the corruption of the medium of its portrayal (namely television) inspires me to take a posture of suspicion towards the process, per se. Lastly, I hope by intentionally not voting (a provocative act for the reasons stated above) I can give myself and others occasion to rethink and re-imagine in which more important “elections” we might spend our time and energy “voting”

Exploding the False Dichotomy

The United States is a country of more than 300 million people (Central Intelligence Agency 2008) and only two powerful political parties at the national level. Canada, a country of 33 million people (Central Intelligence Agency 2008), has successfully incorporated a third party into its nationally politics since the 1930s (Wikipedia 2008). Serious third parties exist in the U.S., but are not given nearly any political coverage in the media. In the 2004 election, the Green party and Libertarian party candidates were arrested for hopping a police line at the presidential debate, seeking entrance into an informational even that, not only were they not invited to participate in, but were not in fact able to gain entrance to at all. More than just sidelined, voting for these parties (as in the case of Ralph Nader) is seen as a betrayal of one’s political allies. Among certain portions of the left, voting for Nader’s third party ticket was more than a waste; it was seen as downright bad for America.

The reduction of our political discourse into a dichromatic pugilism between “right” and “left” or republican and democrat serves to dilute our community deliberations into an easily palatable form. The possibility of intelligent solutions (and their concomitant complexity) is precluded by uncomplicated opposition: “us” versus “them.” The comprehensiveness of the false dichotomy also enables an easy-going (but wildly false) objectivity. As long as both sides are allowed the same amount of airtime to lie to the public, then all points of view have been represented and the intelligent voter can decide. Or so goes the thinking.

The problems with that sort of “Crossfire”/”Hannity & Colmes” thinking and programming are multiple. Firstly, we have the issue of how the truth can be gleaned from a field of lies. More likely than someone taking the time to parse out the bits of factuality from the mess of contradictory half-truths, most are going to become cynical about the possibility of determining the truth at all. In their justified frustration, they are likely to fall back into a kind of thoughtless conservatism, in which they will only trust the familiar. After all, if we really can’t know what the good or right ideas are, we are more likely to seek out what will least disrupt our lives. Someone who looks like me is more likely to keep things the way I find them comfortable.

And if I’m a middle aged white male with a mediocre career in my chosen field and some wild college days behind me, I vote for a George W. Bush. If I’m a middle-aged mom with troublesome kids and the difficulties of balancing career and family, I sure think Sarah Palin is swell. Or if I’m urban and educated with aspirations to a sort of NPR cultured-ness, I put an Obama pin on my sweater. Or if I’m a blue collar union member and I can toss back a beer and sometimes my big mouth gets me into trouble, I’m sure glad that colored fellow…er, I mean, African American man is running with Joe Biden.

Furthermore, in setting up the opposition as between only two, we can watch (and have watched) alternative conceptions of American order and well-being fall out of the discussion. In fact, when one places the American Presidential candidates onto a spectrum map of political positions, they land almost entirely in the same quadrant, whether republican or democrat. Further still, we can find that internal, ideological consistency becomes less and less important for members of a particular party. Instead, each defines itself in opposition to the other, such that not just the particular reason or logic of the political position is lost, but the requirement for any reason or logic is abandoned. This is the headlong dive into irrationality that lends a culture towards decline and instability.

Outgrowing Our Infantilization
Your evening news was once a function of the government’s regulative functions upon the broadcast media. Because the radio and television airwaves are public, the government required television broadcasters to perform a public service for the good of the nation. So, for an hour every night, your entertainment programming as brought to you by Winston Cigarettes would be interrupted so that information could be distributed to us via the public airwaves, in the justified belief that educated citizens have the power to effect the public good. This sort of thinking brought us the journalistic heroics of Edward R Murrow against the HUAC hearings. It was not perfect of course. It failed to avoid being an instrument of FDR’s manipulation of Pearl Harbor to get us into WWII (in which he allowed an unprovoked act of war to be carried out against the U.S. for political purposes), but the ideal remained none-the-less. The motivating principle behind journalism was the good of the community.

Commerce has replaced that motivating principle and crippled the news media’s ability to serve the public good. The advent and perfection of for-profit news reportage is perhaps the single greatest force for the corruption of the American political process and the infantilization of its participants. The motivating criteria for news media have been usurped by the standards and principles of entertainment programming. To summarize David Milch’s position, when the protocols of entertainment programming take over what is supposed to be a service for the public good, our experience of the world beyond our commute to work becomes virtualized. (Milch 2006) We encounter the real and important events of politics in the realm of what Paul Ricoeur calls “the as if.” This is a dangerous deformation of what ought to rightly be presented in the “as it happened” voice.

That this virtualization is also a passive virtualization is what elevates voting so thoughtlessly for our society. What is the bare-minimum of civic involvement becomes the pinnacle of citizenship. I sit at home and watch two liars yell at each other for a few hours a night, decide to identify with one of those liars and then every two or four years, I interrupt one afternoon and cast my cote. This is not true citizenship. People go to more trouble to be involved in the selection process of “American Idol” than that.

Furthermore, this passive virtualization infantilizes us. We become incapable of questioning its machinations or movements. Think of the 3-act structure of the last 7 years: In act 1, our programming is interrupted by 9-11 and seeing these horrible images upsets us, but we’re also captivated by them for a time. Then we get tired of them, so bring on act 2. We go after those who we believe are responsible, but the machinations of that act are frustrated. We can’t find the guy who really harmed us. So, we replace him with a different character, this Iraqi dictator. We know he’s bad and we know where to find him. Much like a comic book, one villain is as good as another. But once we’ve got him, the act is supposed to end and these kids are still dying over there. In act 3, there is a twist and we turn on the folly of the man who was our hero, George W. Bush. So let’s get those kids home and get this guy out of office. (Milch 2006)

Besides, we want to “Change” the channel now. We’ve heard about this Barack Obama program and we want to see if it is any good.

Exactly like we hope to find some kind of communion with humanity in our fictional television programs, we hope to find some communion with our nation in the programming of our political process. Except this programming doesn’t offer real communion and healing. Instead, it provides us with the insatiable habituation of an addiction. Marx was wrong; Religion isn’t the opiate of the masses. Televised politics is. Like heroin, political programming provides an isolating numbness from our anxieties and pains and an always-receding rush of satisfaction.

“Voting” in “Elections” That Matter

Don't give up on mass culture. Contribute to it. Break your heart in trying to make it better instead of standing outside it. Our species is in a fight for its life. Nobody says that the decision is going go one way or the other. So put your bodies and spirits up. It's not that we don't have a vote anymore. It's that we're voting in the wrong election. Come and vote with me. (Milch 2006)

It should be noted that I am not promoting disengagement from political concerns into a sort of stoic indifference to American politics. Like Milch says, I’m not giving up on mass culture. This is not a retreat into intellectual purity. Rather, I’m suggesting we’ve been distracted from opportunities to make a real difference by the shimmering-and-false promise of presidential elections. One day, if things improve in America, I may vote again. Until then, the energy I would put into voting (and hopefully considerably more) will be put towards “voting” in more important ways.

Part of the infantilization effected by the virtualization of our political lives is that we miss the places where our civic duty calls to us close to home. We see the suffering and needy in our hometowns and we wonder when the government will come up with a program to heal that. We see our young people losing direction and hope and we wonder when the schools will get enough funding to direct them and give them opportunities. We watch families fall apart and relationships strain and we hope that legislators will enact laws to protect them.

I don’t vote as a reminder that I have civic responsibilities that cannot be met in an elementary school on the first Tuesday of November. I don’t vote so that I can be fresh-faced and clear-minded for those people who I am in community with, whether we recognize each other or not. I don’t vote because my faith is not in the United States of America, a sprawling behemoth with little thought of conscience, but is instead in the Kingdom of God, a lean force of faithful people quietly thundering towards the eschaton with Faith, Hope and Charity.

So, I hope you’ll join me in not voting in the presidential election today. After all, you’ll only encourage them. Instead, spend some time “voting” in the “elections” that matter. I already cast my vote.

You just read it.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Cute-ness and Cut-ness

Why didn't anyone tell me that the vocalist for Paramore is totally A-dorable! Goodness, I'm sort of in love.

In other news, I finally got a damn haircut. I only have awkward camera phone pics, but I'll share one.

This and an H&M debacle friday made for a Jon to take the town with.

Wonder why I stayed in tonight...

*update* Hayley Williams is a Christian and she's Straight Edge...eep! *update*

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Wise Words

"And let me thank you and let me say from my heart; please engage in the things we're talking about. Don't give up on mass culture. Contribute to it. Break your heart in trying to make it better instead of standing outside it. Our species is in a fight for it's life. Nobody says that the decision is going go one way or the other. So put your bodies and spirits up. It's not that we don't have a vote anymore. It's that we're voting in the wrong election. Come and vote with me."

David Milch @ MIT on April 20th, 2006

Monday, October 13, 2008

The Boy The King Loved (Pt. 3.5)

The King looked at the man oddly and said,"Your son will come under my care and schooling, but he must come today. If you cannot part with him immediately, I fear you will lose your conviction in the days to come and snatch him from his tutors in my considerable libraries."

"Of course," the former monk replied, bowing deeply to the King. "Let me fetch him from chopping the firewood and he will be your ward. My wife and I will be comforted and cared for by the knowing that our boy is beloved by the King."

"I have no doubt, for you seem to be a man of strong character, firm will and mirthful spirit. It is on my honor that your boy will come to greatness behind my walls." The king said, touching the sleeve of the humble mathematician.

"Neither have I any doubt of your promise," tumbled from the man, now evidently startled by the King's touch. "May your servant go and fetch the boy?"

"Go, but do not have him pack any of his things. All he needs will be provided," the King finished, thinking, " If it were not so cold on this autumn day, I would have him come to us in his tunic alone, without even sandals. But the frost hardens the soil and the boy will become ill if I indulge myself in such overt ritual."

The boy was fetched. Hugging his mother and father about the neck, he swore to give his best for the service of the Kingdom and the honor of their family. Then, as he passed through the meager garden and back woods of his parent's land, he snatched the hatchet from a stump where the wood was chopped. It's blade was rusted in spots and the handle was wrapped only in a rough twine older than he was. He folded it into a piece of bed-cloth he carried his daily lunch of cheese, rough country bread and an apple in most days. Tucking his only momento of childhood labor under his arm, he trotted off for the courts of the king.

The boy was surprised how little he already missed the way things had been and how terribly light his being felt about him.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Existential Exfoliation

This is all about something so small; I went out with fun people last night and I just wasn't very much fun. At moments, I was downright unpleasant. I'm an unlovely creature at times.

In general, people are really kind to me. I'm not often as generous, in general. Especially behind the eyes.

We're all just really scared I think. Scared that things are going to fall apart around us. Scared of the truth of things. Scared of how we feel and think. Scared of what everyone else feels and thinks.

How will I ever balance my enthusiasm with kindness? Why is apologizing for the small-but-important things the hardest? Because it re-opens wounds not considered big enough to be worth the hassle?

Today I'm going to take a big, deep breath. All of it just is what it is; which for the most part is really, wildly, immensely good. Let the dead skin slough off in its own time.

On a tangentially related note: You should probably buy Panic At The Disco's newer album "Pretty. Odd." It's relentlessly cheerful and exactly as advertised. Petty. Odd.



I'll try to write another installment for The Boy The King Loved tomorrow.

Godspeed.

Friday, October 10, 2008

Attraction Misapprehension

That's the second time a stranger has thought I'm gay at 80's Dance Night.

(and no, its not at a gay bar)

The first time it was some crazy chick who patted me on the ass after I said I was straight...and then tonight she grabbed my ass again and then stared at me awkwardly. Later, she yelled something over the music about me not overdoing it w/ "some B.U. bitches." I have no idea what in the world that was about.

However, tonight it was a shy hipster boy who thought I was cute and wanted to know if I was single, which is SO flattering.

But yeah, that's twice now...I can only figure it's because a) I'm dancing pretty much continuously, b) I usually dress kind of nice and c) I'm not awkwardly invading the space of women I don't know.

Can't a straight dude just want to dance to Michael Jackson for a few hours on a thursday?

(I can practically hear you whispering "no" to yourselves. Don't be so close minded.)

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Regularly Scheduled Recollections

I'll interrupt our story for the moment.

I baked cookies. They are peanut butter and decadent. Or, as I told someone, they are peanut butter, with an emphasis on the butter. Mixing the batter by hand is way more work than it is worth, which may be exactly why it's the only way worth doing it. I'll share if you ask, though if you live far away, I doubt they'll ship well. They are too delicate an amalgamation of sugar, butter and a tid-bit of flour. Lo siento.

I ditched class for the first time here. I don't want to give my reasoning, because I ignored it anyways and went out to play pool and eat french fries. Now my tomorrow is a bit of a disaster. At least I get done sort of early; 4:15pm and I can disappear if I want to.

I've been given a great opportunity to work into a more systematic thought some of the scattered insights about Christianity and Christian Faith. I spent most of my day writing about why thinking of Christianity understood as a "world view" is bad for Christianity. Tomorrow, if I have it in me, I'll write about what it might be if not a "world view."

None of that is homework. Oy.

Thank you, God, for: Prayers in the shower, fall chill, unhealthy sandwiches, long-time-no-see phone calls with friends, Oreos (whole box or not), paisley ties, youthful arrogance, brunettes with big pretty eyes, Fyodor Dostoevsky (ignored or not), new jobs, The Mars Volta and sunlight.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

The Boy The King Loved (Pt. 3)

The Origins of the Beloved Boy
Under safer times, the King had taken to meeting with groups of merchants, trades-people and farmers. They would bring complaints sometimes, but more often mere suggestions for how things might go more smoothly between king and subject. Some of these were naïve in the way that only peasants sure of their craft and little else can be naïve. A few were quite insightful and were acted upon swiftly. An arrangement, for example, allowing for tribute proportionate to surplus kept the kingdom’s granaries full and the farmers un-harassed during lean years. It furthermore made the king a powerful (though well liked) benefactor of surrounding hamlets and villages in such times. The surrounding peasants and a few of his own more grateful subjects took to calling him “King Joseph” for a time, though that was a reference to Jacob’s biblical son and not the King’s true name.
The peasant source of this fine policy was not at all a farmer, incidentally. The man had been a monk at one point, though few people of the city knew this. Now he worked only a little, as he was almost blind, presumably from copying manuscripts in the near-dark. His work carried no theme or purpose. Just this or that to augment the money his tall, slender wife made as a mid-wife. They had neither wealth nor prestige, and so his place at a meeting with the king had been come-upon very much by accident.
A shepherd, whose fence he had helped mend, was impressed by his considerable skill with mathematics, though the man lacked sight with which to write down complicated procedures. The man performed them in his head, as it were. The shepherd, aware of the pending discussion with the monarch, invited the modest, blind mathematician. It was his formula that, in the end, would be implemented to assure a just proportionality of tribute from fat years to lean. Everyone at the meeting remarked at the simultaneous genius and practical accessibility of the formula. Those men of lesser character among them went away saying to themselves, “why, I could have thought of such a thing! If only I had!”
The King, grateful for such a practical solution to this problem, offered to the former monk any service he required, within reason. Was there some quandary or trouble haunting the man or his kin? Was there a debt in need of payment? Some definite but serious issue in need of solving? The sightless man spoke as soon as the King had offered.
“My son is clever, but in need of schooling. He knows some letters already, though he lacks my facility with maths,” he said without any evident shyness at acknowledging his talent with numbers. “In my home, his talent will be squandered. He only chops wood and stokes the fire while his mother and I labor as well. On quiet nights I try to teach him some, but it wil come to nothing, I am sure. The court has men of letters who could tutor him, of this I am sure. Would the King value his learning and take him into his heart and home?” He continued with a chuckle “and indeed, into the Kings considerable library?”

Monday, October 6, 2008

The Boy The King Loved (Pt. 2)

The East-Facing Window
The east-facing window, through which the sun had once rose and which was now hidden behind the weight of misplaced tapestry, portrayed an ancient tale of courage. So it was told, a mild local blacksmith had fashioned a great sword. The sword was told to be larger than any man could wield in battle unless he were quite a giant. The man, an heirless widower, crafted it for many years, but only after his paid work was finished and no other matter commanded his attention. Indeed, its manufacture took many years. No one within the gates knew what purpose lay in the construction of such an instrument. Some suggested it was ceremonial, a gift to the King in the place of an heir to continue tribute to the monarch. Indeed, the local man was said to be quite noble in his disposition and loyal in his character. And, indeed, such a ceremonial act from a poor man with no family might have seemed a fitting final labor.
In the autumn of his final year, the quiet tradesman dragged his giant’s sword into the city’s field, at that time left for its Sabbatical rest. In the rolled dirt and browning grass he parked the sled that carried his over-built weapon. He stood over the field and his sword for a day and a night. On the dawn of the second day, a particularly clear chill fell upon the land. Every surface glittered with an infinity of jeweled dew, frozen into frost. The colors of the fall-turned trees refracted each a thousand times and the tall city gates shimmered an iron shimmer. The cloak of our simple worker was itself stiff with ice and his well-kempt beard too. Everything lay frozen, both in matter and in time.
Our simple worker crouched as slowly as anyone had seen his already deft form move. His leather-gloved hands wrapped around the immense handle of the weapon at his feet, one at the lowest point and the other at the top-most. With a groan that shook the ice from every surface, the field suddenly cleaved and coughed up a rich and foul earth which met and intermingled the falling frost. The air was, for that moment, like breathing diamonds from coal.
From beneath the ruptured earth, a hulking form of mud and stone rose up. Its teeth of granite ringed its gaping maw that snatched open fiercely and its eyeless skull lurched forth from the fruitless soil. Simultaneously, a whirling fan of steel shirked its sheeth of crystal frost and lept from its sled. The meager blacksmith’s cloak exploded from his back into a doubled halo of shattered ice as he swung his mighty creation. It’s profound blade cracked through the lower jaw of the earthen nemesis, showering splintered stone across the view. It’s green-black life-blood poured from this wound a stench across the open earth
A rumble escaped the living soil and the steel-worker’s blade hung for a moment in the air upon its second pass. Half of its full length crashed into the crown of the lurking monster and lodged there mightily. The earth sunk beneath the feet of the blacksmith, but he relinquished his creation not. The soil quivered a moment and then fell away all together, swallowing first his blade and then, with it, the swords creator. Only his cloak remained and the sled.
Or so it was told. Indeed, so it was memorialized in colored glass and lead behind a time-dulled tapestry portraying some battle or another.

Sunday, October 5, 2008

The Boy The King Loved

and now a story. It's a bit of a medieval fantasy, which is peculiar from me, since I usually don't like to read or write that kind of thing. I'll post it here in installments. We'll see if it ever gets finished.
There was a boy beloved by the King. Indeed, beloved so much the more because he was not the King’s own kin. The child was not much of a boy, but kind enough that one noticed so almost straight away. He was at turns talkative to a fault or taciturn without explanation. He was sturdily built but carried himself as though he fancied himself less imposing in stature. He would sometimes be scolded by his tutor for crossing his legs knee-over-knee.
“A man rests an ankle crosswise his opposing knee, son. Let no one mistake you for an effeminate,” the tutor would chide. Yet when safe from the reach of his tutor's swat, the boy would fold his right leg over left, tucking his elbows into his sides and folding his hands atop his doubled knees. His shoulders would slouch and he would glance up to whomever he was speaking with a steady gaze that hinted at gentleness. Or perhaps some unnamed and latent guilt felt at some existential culpability. It was this amalgamation of guilt and gentleness the King loved most.
The Kingdom in that time was dangerous, over run with shameless men who scoffed at the law. They harmed the weak and fled the authority of the monarchy, living in tents outside the city walls. The King would often sit quietly in the darkness. His solemn eyes glimmering with some small, mysterious hope his creased forehead did not betray. He would eat only salted meats and country breads. He would drink only the most meager portion of wine diluted immensely with water. Clear nights when the moon was out, the King would take the air on the parapet. The King seemed to swell beneath the moon. So much more so did he shrink back from the sun’s direct glare.
Huge, ancient, and heavy tapestries were hung across the glorious and likewise-ancient stained glass of the King’s court. The walls, where they had previously hung, stood bare. The special awkwardness resulting of the misplaced tapestries took on a tremulous menace as the vague twilight shadows crept across the space as hours lulled by in silence. The jester would yawn. The cup-bearer would sip drunkenly from the King’s chalice in some shadowed doorway. The Queen, perpetually pursued by a draft, would recline near her husband. Her lap would bear a fine quilt. The quilt would rest atop many knit blankets nesting about her knees, like a doll reclining among scarves. The knit blankets were of the kind the Queen remembered from her youth.

Monday, September 29, 2008

Smiles and Tears

Since I'm wide awake and it's well past bed time, how about a few thoughts? A few, marginally connected thoughts:

- The world is so BEAUTIFUL! It's just chockers with this beauty stuff. Rain drops clinging on the minute leaves of a hedge and sparkling in the street lights. The soft velvet of a cloud nestled on a New England hill, enveloping a walk home. The breath-stealing pressure of bass-drum-hits in an oak-and-leather pub. The tender tear of sandwich bread around spicy meatballs and tangy marinara, swallowed with a swig of cream soda. Televised performances of historical mourning. Parisians wearing gifted ties. Stone-work buildings with fancy windows and long, well worn tables. Three piece rock bands from Wheaton, Illinois. Fancy, fancy root beer.

- The world is so SAD. I'm haunted everywhere by the beauty's concomitant sadness. The creeping loneliness of proximity over community. The stupid, thoughtless, irresponsibility of lenders and borrowers. Everyone's oblivion to everyone else's hurt and confusion. The ways we hide our hurt and confusion, mostly from ourselves. Partisan hackery. Misplaced hope. Fanciful obsessions and the traps we return to willingly. Sin, sin and sin.

- Both make me feel so FULL! I'm bursting these days. Smiles and tears, both in good supply.

Godspeed.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Bavarian Beverage


"This award-winning root beer is brewed with all natural ingredients. The well water used in this special edition root beer comes from the Bohemian Forest region of Bavaria, one of the purest sources in the world for water. A hearty, full-bodied brew, bottled in Virgil's original spring-top stopper, Bavarian Nutmeg is dedicated to the root beer purist.
All natural ingredients - anise, honey, licorice, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg, clove, wintergreen, cassia oil, sweet birch and molasses. No preservatives, no artificial flavors."

On a scale of one to awesome, this stuff is the shit!

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Reality's Musicality

There are two stanzas in an obscure song by an obscure midwestern band that most intimately express the hurt and the hope of my heart. It almost always puts tears in my eyes.

Go check out www.myspace.com/sleepingatlast and listen to "Needle and Thread

The verse:

They say this place has changed
but strip away all of the technology
and you will see that we all are hunters
hunting for something that will make us OK...


And then:

"You were a million years of work"
said God and his angels with needle and thread.
They kissed your head and said
"You're a good kid and you make us proud,
so just give your best and the rest we'll come and we'll see you soon."


Feeling a tad overmatched tonight, but I'm looking forward to keeping a promise tomorrow.


Godspeed

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Celebrity Levity

William H Macy plays the ukulele:


Lauren Graham, who is in fact the cutest cute to ever cute, sort of plays the piano:


And if you don't have She & Him's album yet, pick it up. You should all fall in love w/ Zoe Deschanel:

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Incarnation Disclosed

Paintings of Jesus are often painful to look at. Either painfully idealized or obviously ethnocentric, they betray all of our own projections and reveal very little of the truth of who this God-become-man could have been and continues to be.

Lately, my faith stumbles over the Incarnation. A human being who is at once God... it has seemed ludicrous in the extreme. My belief in such a thing embarrassed me.

The Meditator

In searching for the above painting, called "The Contemplator" by Kramskoy, that Dostoevsky mentions in "The Brothers Karamazov," I stumbled upon this painting of Christ in the wilderness.

Christ in the Wilderness

He is bathed in light, but he willing hunches into His own shadow. His beard is dirty and maybe a little matted. His bare feet touch the earth He created unceremoniously. His hands are clenched so tightly his tendons stand out. His eyes are elsewhere, with a hint of lament. Still, His forehead seems creased with resolution

This is a powerful aspect of Jesus glimpsed through art. It is the concordance of discordance in Christ. It is precisely His Godly humanity. It enlivens my faith in Incarnation, at least for as long as my fickle heart can grasp its Truth.

Godspeed.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Morning Tide of Thought

I think the one of Jesus commands that I'm most focused on these days is to not worry. I'm trying to be obedient, but sometimes I just end up worrying about worrying.

This kind of obedience is especially important for philosophy right now. If I'm doing philosophy to try to meet the expectations of an exterior, posited, super-ego-like standard of what a philosopher should be or do or whatever, I end up lying all the time.

"Sure, I love reading Wittgenstein."

I end up reading things in order to impress people and to try to be someone else. To try to be the REAL philosophy student and not just my fraudulent self.

Even Truth isn't really my goal, if by truth we mean some out-there-now-real that has to be discovered and comprehensively comprehended. If that were the case, I would never stop worrying about all that will inevitably escape my grasp.

No, I think I'm here to do only this: To do the work I love and love the people I'm doing it with.

That and, as Shaq says, not "come inside the paint w/ any weak shit."

No more ambition. It is just the self divorcing and judging itself. It's horrendous doubleness.

If I pursue this place, these people and this work in passionately LOVE, I will be exactly the kind of successful I'm supposed to be.

and nothing more.

Godspeed.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Connaitre of the Co-Natural

"What is God?" is the wrong question. The first 3 pages of Augustine's Confessions shows the trouble that kind of thinking gets one into.

Instead, "Who is God?" is a finer place to start.

God is The Father who gifts His full being to the Begotten Son. This is Charity.

God is The Son, who receives from the Father (from eternity!) His whole being. This is Hospitality.

God is the The Spirit, who is the eternal Love of Father for Son and Son for Father. This is Unity.

God knows me. God knows me not just with an encyclopedic knowledge, like I might know my times tables. God knows me like a people know one another. We are "familiar." We are of a family. The french verb "connaitre" gets closer to the way in which God knows me. Connaitre means familiarity or knowledge, but more literally means that God and I are co-natural. Being "connaitre'd" by God (and meagerly knowing God, as we are able) is to share in God's nature. Is to be made in God's image.

Because God and I are co-natural, my self-hood is intimately tied up in the self-hood of God. The God of Love Loving Love is intimately familiar with me and values me and LOVES me.

And though I have peculiar gifts and weaknesses and fanciful obsessions and meager patience and self-delusion and self-obsession and every other kind of messy, vulgar particularity...I know that I am co-natural with the God. There are many gifts, but one Spirit.

And at my best, I may rest transparently on the spirit which gave me rise. Gave me rise, I'll add to Kierkegaard, into a Creation of rampant Goodness. A goodness which includes me.

A goodness I have only because I am valued by the source of value and loved by the lover of love.

Godspeed.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Despair That Does Not Know Itself As Despair

It seems that with all the talk of "hope" and "change" going on in the political arena during this election, good old fashioned cynicism has lost favor among even the most critical radicals among us. We are once again enamored of the American political/industrial complex and I reckon it is because we have gladly re-upped our addictions. A black man and a white woman are in the race and we have swallowed this illusion of progress. It's understandable, what with the state of things being what they are. War. Economic trouble. Social and moral fragmentation. We have been provided with novel programming, not a true vision for national revitalization.

Families stay broken. Marriages stay fragile. Lives stay purposeless. The sick remain unhealed. The hungry stay hungry. The alien stays distrusted. The widowed stay lonely. The imprisoned stay forgotten. The soldier keeps fighting.

I remember a brighter time, when the shame of a political system was put through the ringer by a few frustrated voices. I remember a brighter time, when the bullshit was easier to detect.

I remember when President Bush and Senator John Kerry were running two campaigns of stale horse shit spun into golden fluff. And everyone was pissed.

Jon Stewart takes us back:









Godspeed. We'll need it.

Dichotomy Rejection at Depth

The following was first published during the 2004 election, but it's arguments still apply today. While I prefer to vote third party, in what you might call an "active non-vote," I still think MacIntyre is right on.

The Only Vote Worth Casting in November

Alasdair MacIntyre
University of Notre Dame
(Original can be found at http://ethicscenter.nd.edu/archives/macintyre.shtml)

When offered a choice between two politically intolerable alternatives, it is important to choose neither. And when that choice is presented in rival arguments and debates that exclude from public consideration any other set of possibilities, it becomes a duty to withdraw from those arguments and debates, so as to resist the imposition of this false choice by those who have arrogated to themselves the power of framing the alternatives. These are propositions which in the abstract may seem to invite easy agreement. But, when they find application to the coming presidential election, they are likely to be rejected out of hand. For it has become an ingrained piece of received wisdom that voting is one mark of a good citizen, not voting a sign of irresponsibility. But the only vote worth casting in November is a vote that no one will be able to cast, a vote against a system that presents one with a choice between Bush's conservatism and Kerry's liberalism, those two partners in ideological debate, both of whom need the other as a target.

Why should we reject both? Not primarily because they give us wrong answers, but because they answer the wrong questions. What then are the right political questions? One of them is: What do we owe our children? And the answer is that we owe them the best chance that we can give them of protection and fostering from the moment of conception onwards. And we can only achieve that if we give them the best chance that we can both of a flourishing family life, in which the work of their parents is fairly and adequately rewarded, and of an education which will enable them to flourish. These two sentences, if fully spelled out, amount to a politics. It is a politics that requires us to be pro-life, not only in doing whatever is most effective in reducing the number of abortions, but also in providing healthcare for expectant mothers, in facilitating adoptions, in providing aid for single-parent families and for grandparents who have taken parental responsibility for their grandchildren. And it is a politics that requires us to make as a minimal economic demand the provision of meaningful work that provides a fair and adequate wage for every working parent, a wage sufficient to keep a family well above the poverty line.

The basic economic injustice of our society is that the costs of economic growth are generally borne by those least able to afford them and that the majority of the benefits of economic growth go to those who need them least. Compare the rise in wages of ordinary working people over the last thirty years to the rise in the incomes and wealth of the top twenty percent. Compare the value of minimum wage now to its value then and next compare the value of the remuneration of CEOs to its value then. What is needed to secure family life is a sufficient minimum income for every family and that can perhaps best be secured by some version of the negative income tax, proposed long ago by Milton Friedman, a tax that could be used to secure a large and just redistribution of income and so of property.

We note at this point that we have already broken with both parties and both candidates. Try to promote the pro-life case that we have described within the Democratic Party and you will at best go unheard and at worst be shouted down. Try to advance the case for economic justice as we have described it within the Republican Party and you will be laughed out of court. Above all, insist, as we are doing, that these two cases are inseparable, that each requires the other as its complement, and you will be met with blank incomprehension. For the recognition of this is precluded by the ideological assumptions in terms of which the political alternatives are framed. Yet at the same time neither party is wholeheartedly committed to the cause of which it is the ostensible defender. Republicans happily endorse pro-choice candidates, when it is to their advantage to do so. Democrats draw back from the demands of economic justice with alacrity, when it is to their advantage to do so. And in both cases rhetorical exaggeration disguises what is lacking in political commitment.

In this situation a vote cast is not only a vote for a particular candidate, it is also a vote case for a system that presents us only with unacceptable alternatives. The way to vote against the system is not to vote.

Monday, September 1, 2008

Unwieldy Consciousness

I'll attempt to temper the impending blow-hard-y-ness of this entry by starting this way: I suck at a great deal of life. I'm not athletic. I don't grasp mathematical concepts easily. I can't draw well. Tactile tasks are always a struggle and my fine motor skills are deeply lacking. I'm emotionally stunted and probably a little self-isolating. I have little self control unless I take extreme measures. On and on and on...

But I'm mentally very good with words and language. Remarkably so, I think. Without any extra effort or particular intention, I tend to fashion complex and eloquent thoughts and phrases. I don't notice it much, but occasionally people will look at me askew or accuse me of trying to show off. Or they'll just chuckle. A friend working on a system for analyzing personal writing asked for a sample of my journals or other informal writing. I sent him a sample. He said that maybe I misunderstood. He had wanted something informal and personal. Nothing so flowery and complex as what I'd sent him. I explained that was my personal journalling. He just labeled me as an outlier, I think.

It's been this way for a long time. In Jr. High, other kids teased me for my vocabular. No shit. They called me "Webster."

In fact, my intellectual capacity for language is so agile that it's almost a problem. It's undisciplined. It's a Bull-in-a-china-shop kind of thing. I can examine my own language (written or spoken) so quickly that I end up deconstructing my own language. Or crafting incredibly dense sentences. I feel the anxiety of the information left out as I'm writing, so I engage in linguistic gymnastics in order to cram in as much as possible. Instead of one idea per sentence, you'll get 3 or 4 out of me. I'm getting better at it, but I have to stop and refocus every paragraph so as not to get ahead of myself.

In a sea of my other short comings, it is this one thing I'm very, very good at. In a way, that is exciting. I've never felt very good at anything for most of my life. I've always been mediocre at best in most measurable areas. Now I've got a talent for something. On the other hand, it feels like a responsibility too. Like I'd be wasting something if I didn't work very hard to cultivate it. And I'm not (by inclination) a very hard worker. Remember that thing about self control from the first paragraph? Flavor that with some protestant guilt and WHAM-O! you're paralyzed by perfectionism.

It's easy to unmask ourselves. It's harder to ignore the mask and just walk around, getting things done.

I'm making BBQ Tofu sandwiches tonight. Well, technically they are seared tofu sandwiches, but they are marinated in bbq sauce, so...yeah, you get the idea. You should come over and have some.

Godspeed.

Saturday, August 30, 2008

Dysfunctional Disjunction

I have an apartment.

I also have many many details to attend to. Managing my borrowed money. Making sure I pay the right people for the right things at the right time. Getting all the things one needs to live modern life in a modern place. Kitchen things. Office things. Bathroom things. Closet things.

I have internet access. Now. That'll make things easier. A printer would be a fine idea too. What kind of printers do Macs like?

I have a desk on top of which I can put my computer (that has internet now, did I mention that?). I also have an office chair. I got these from the pile of furniture across the street. How did I make it up a flight of stairs w/ a big desk, you ask? Christian helped me.

Who's Christian? Good question. Christian is a guy I helped move an abandoned beer pong table 3 blocks down Comm. Ave. His friend stacy really wanted it for her apartment. They were digging through abandoned sidewalk furniture w/ me, which is where we found the beer pong table (and desk, incidentally). He saw me eye balling the desk and then offered to help haul it across the street to my place. They oogled my apt. for a while and then invited me to their apt. to hang out. I got some free coke and pizza and then met their neighbors, some decidedly more yuppy looking young ladies named claire and ally. I went along for a beer run w/ them. We all hung out together on the porch out back for a while, and chatted and had awkward exchanges. Then I went home.

and repositioned my desk for the first of many times.

I've been eating PB&J and Total cereal for days, so it was just nice to get some different food in me.

I've also found the (slightly) local Goodwill. It's no VD, but it'll do. I got plates and bowls and a couple of glasses, so I can justify buying groceries.

My bathroom looks gorgeous though.

Classes start tuesday. The disjointed nature of this entry should bespeak how I feel and how I'm...functioning these days.

Godspeed.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Deep Dark Readiness

Moving to Boston soon.

I'll be in Chicago next week starting tuesday afternoon and leaving the following tuesday. If you're there and you read this, can I stay on your couch? or atleast buy you lunch?

I'm freaking out a little. So much to do in just a couple of busy days. Once I land in Boston, I bet you I'll post to Praxisoscope again. I'll just have that kinda time.

I went to a bachelor party tonight. It was kinda nuts. Still, I had a good time. Sharpies and random (not very shy) women. So crazy.

Love you all. Should get a little sleep.
Godspeed.

Thursday, July 31, 2008

Re-Uptake Un-Inhibited

New Praxisoscope entry has been posted, after nearly six months of inactivity. If you haven't seen The Dark Knight, go add to Christopher Nolan's considerable wealth. Then come back and comment on my psuedo-Hegelian interpretation of the movie's themes.

And sentimentality aside, Ledger deserves a post-humous Oscar nomination for his performance. Damn good.

Godspeed.

Chronicles of Hopeful Posture

Welp, I just signed a lease here in Boston. Studio apartment w/ a lil' alcove action, lots of windows and dishwasher in a tiny kitchen. It's gonna cost me a small fortune, but it's nicer than anything else I saw in that price range, so I guess thats all good. It's only fair to chronicle a little of how I got to this point of commitment.

Monday night I flew the red-eye from Oakland to New York. I paid 30 bucks for an extra 18 inches of leg room, which was wise. PLus, Jet Blue has cable tv, so that wasn't so bad. Couple of hours lay over in JFK and then 1hr flight into boston, landing me an hour late @ 9:15am. So, I snagged a cab from the airport to Emily Johnson's (EJ's) place, showered quick-like and then went to my first apartment showing. Okay, but convenient location and all utilities included. Next apartment showing was a super dank basement unit. Really foul and nasty. Then I looked at getting a room in a big apartment w/ strangers. The apartment was nice and close to B/C, but I think that would be too risky. Dinner w/ EJ at a yummy german pub type place. Fell asleep @ 9pm that night, after being awake for...33 hours?

Wednesday was meeting w/ BC profs. First was the director of the Grad program. He was somewhat helpful and pretty nice, but a slightly odd little fellow. Oh well, that's how philosophy types can be. He did introduce me to a nice prof named eileen sweeney who was working on Radical Orthodoxy for an article. I did my writing sample on Radical Orthodoxy's "founder," so we traded snarky remarks about his terrible writing. She was a delight and was very kind and welcoming. I'll be friends w/ her, I think. :) I looked at like 6 more apartments that afternoon. 2 were interesting, but only one had lots of windows. I said I was interested and the price was reasonable, so I filled out an application and wrote a deposit check. HERE GOES NUTHIN'!

Last night Emily and a couple her friends took me to cambridge, which was beautiful and very fancy. We went into a bookstore, or as I like to call them, "money stealing dispensers of printed-paper guilt." I got some stuff... Then dinner and then some bar. EJ's friends are pretty funny. Smart folks.

Today I met w/ a financial aid advisor, who painted a more encouraging picture of my loan eligibility than I had apprised for myself. So that's good...or atleast as good as 22 grand in debt can be. Then it was off to meet my new landlord, who was a kindly-but-no-nonsense eastern european lady in her 60's. She was interested in theology, so I recommended a book or two. I think we'll be friends too. I wonder if she makes yummy pastries...

Now I owe them a god-awful amount of money. Mom and dad are helping, but I'm scared shitless by this living-on-pure-debt thing. And I'm stuck w/ it for a while. God will provide, cuz this is the only thing I can see myself doing right now and ... well, He'd better or else....you know.

Okay, thats enough for now. No deep thoughts in this one. Godspeed,
Jon

Saturday, July 26, 2008

Despite the Doubleness; Resting Transparently

Well folks, after many broken promises, it is finally happening. I've started a Praxisoscope entry on The Dark Knight. It probably won't be finished until tomorrow night, since it's gone and gotten late on me here in California. I promise though, this will be a triumphant return, leaning strongly on my continual theme that any ethical schema assumes a sociology. The Joker inspired me, so you should go see the movie this weekend and let me know what you think.

The details and logistics of moving to Boston are eating me alive. The black afternoons I'd written of before aren't so awful anymore, but I'm still not myself. Sleep habits aren't settled and I've been eating mostly junk for a week. My bike got backed into in the garage, so that's out of commission as a form of exercise and locomotive freedom. Getting back to work at school will help, no doubt, with all of this melancholy. My poor family though. It must be like living with a zombie.

I am napping quite successfully though.

I'm heading out to Boston next week to try to locate a place to live and to glad hand financial aid types. Be praying that I don't exhaust myself or find some insurmountable complication. I need things to go smoothly from here on through. I fly a red eye out on Monday night and come back Friday afternoon.

How I'd like my life to look in Boston? Something like this:

-Get up around 6 am and Showered/dressed/shaved/etc by 7.
-Get a cup of coffee and write for an hour
-Get to work for 4 or 5 hours, preferably TA-ing or some other academic drudgery related to teaching.
-Take lunch and go for a bike ride or go for a bike ride and then take lunch or bike to-and-from lunch somewhere, preferably w/ a friend.
-Work on a project or hobby. Something for my sanity. Maybe have an afternoon guitar lesson? Maybe research TV series ideas? Pick up roller/ice hockey, depending on the season? Maybe just have a shower and a nap.
-Go to class and learn about philosophers and what-not.
-Get home, make myself dinner and study/study/study/study until I have to sleep.

I don't know how reasonable/realistic that is, but it sure sounds nice right now. Sounds like the good life to me. Routine, but routine w/ a diversity of interests, focuses and goals. That's how I keep the committee meeting in my head from pulling my life apart. I've gotta keep those fantasies rolling through my head, cuz the logistics of loans and housing and working and debt and....well, you can see how quickly I snowball.

Having a realm or a field in which I feel like a whole person is great. I don't tend to be good at .... well, most things. So to have an area where I'm getting the opportunity to pursue my giftedness is a blessing. On the other hand, it makes me less worried about trying to shore up my deficiencies in other areas. Cuz when I get all jammed up trying to look more whole than I am most of the time, I don't do my work very well.

or at all.

Friday, July 18, 2008

The Self Not Willing To Be Itself

Something is wrong with me and I'm not sure what it is. For one thing, my sleeping habits have come apart. I slept for more than 3 hours this afternoon and I haven't gotten to bed before midnight in a week. And I'll just lay in my dark room with music or a tv show playing for hours. I think I've started clenching my jaw, either in my sleep or just when I'm not paying attention. It makes my jaw hurt, of course, but also gives me head aches. Makes my eyes feel two sizes too big. And this horrible feeling comes over me in the afternoons. It's like hopelessness, but not as sad. It's like frustration but not as angry. It's like depression but not as inactive.

Impotence. I think it's impotence I'm feeling. Like there's some confounded desire I can't manifest.


Our church college group is doing a bible study focusing on Galatians this summer. We're doing the so-called "inductive" bible study, where you Observe, Interpret and then Apply. Aside from the rather glaring hermeneutical naivete of this approach, I'm mostly horrified by its general method: the pooling of ignorance. Why did God give gifts if we're going to ignore them in the name of equality and democracy? Some people are teachers and have knowledge and we should ask them questions and listen when they exercise their work. Others are merciful or creative or whatever the fuck it is, and they ought to be valued for how they testify to their faith through their work. Work the rest of us shouldn't step on by pretending their capacity is less than a gift. Universalizing and vacuous equality is the triumph of envy. "If the foot should say, 'because I am not the hand, I am therefore not a part of the body,' is it then not a part of the body?" Our difference is the occasion for our interlocking unity. Our unity does not come from some substratum which individuates (and, thereby, isolates) us as monads of identical barrenness.

Liberalism makes us alone.

I don't want to be alone.

And now, by way of a hard left turn; a quick look at Galatians 3, as a way of talking about how the Truth of scripture is not necessarily logical. Or, you might say, propositional. Instead, it can be True in a personal or relational fashion.

Galatians 3:1-14
1You foolish Galatians! Who has bewitched you? Before your very eyes Jesus Christ was clearly portrayed as crucified. 2I would like to learn just one thing from you: Did you receive the Spirit by observing the law, or by believing what you heard? 3Are you so foolish? After beginning with the Spirit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort? 4Have you suffered so much for nothing—if it really was for nothing? 5Does God give you his Spirit and work miracles among you because you observe the law, or because you believe what you heard?

6Consider Abraham: "He believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness."[a] 7Understand, then, that those who believe are children of Abraham. 8The Scripture foresaw that God would justify the Gentiles by faith, and announced the gospel in advance to Abraham: "All nations will be blessed through you."[b] 9So those who have faith are blessed along with Abraham, the man of faith.

10All who rely on observing the law are under a curse, for it is written: "Cursed is everyone who does not continue to do everything written in the Book of the Law."[c] 11Clearly no one is justified before God by the law, because, "The righteous will live by faith."[d] 12The law is not based on faith; on the contrary, "The man who does these things will live by them."[e] 13Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us, for it is written: "Cursed is everyone who is hung on a tree."[f] 14He redeemed us in order that the blessing given to Abraham might come to the Gentiles through Christ Jesus, so that by faith we might receive the promise of the Spirit.


Paul had been told to take the Gospel "first to the Jews, then to the Gentiles." The Jews hadn't exactly lept at the chance to convert, risking significant social stigma and so on. On the other hand, when Paul would go and preach to the Gentiles, they'd convert left and right. Thousands at a time, in fact. As David Milch says, "You wanna talk about 'I Love Lucy' doing well!" So, Paul is writing to this community of Gentiles he had converted. In the intervening time, these gentile Christians had been influenced by Jewish Christians in their area to adopt the signs of the Jewish Covenant (Circumcision, Dietary Laws, etc). After all, Paul was obedient to the command that gave the Jews first chance at the Gospel. So the Christian Jews were not unreasonable to think that these new converts were effectively converting to Judaism, if a peculiar branch there-of, and it was about time they started acculturating.

Paul, on the other hand, has been given a more revolutionary vision of what this Christianity thing is going to be all about. It's not about shrinking the world into the confines of Judaism. Its about exploding the gift Israel had been given in order that "All nations will be blessed" by the fulfillment of their story in Christ and on the Cross.

So, Paul starts this section of the letter rebuking them for being "bewitched" (which is a fancy way of saying deceived) into adopting this upside-down understanding of the work of Christ. He drops the word "fool" in there twice, which is no small thing. Paul is pissed off, but why? If they are new converts and they made a pretty innocuous theological misstep, why come down on them so damn hard? Why not just inform them? Why the Pauline histrionics?

The Galatians are new to this quasi-semitic sect that would eventually be called "Christianity." For them, the Jewish laws that are being foisted upon them are novel and probably a welcome way of concretizing their new religion. Remember, everyone's trying to figure out what the social posture of this community should be, being an amalgam of Jew and Gentile, Slave and Free, so on and so forth. Go back and read all the disputes in Acts. It's complicated stuff. You've just converted and the Jews from down the street who have a head start on the back story of this new religion (because they received some modicum of temple education) say there are some clear cut answers about what God requires of you in daily life. What's one more adjustment in a time of transition, if it offers some peace of mind about God's opinion of you?

For Paul, though, the adoption of the Jewish religious practices is a reversion. It's a step back into a life he's fought tooth and nail to escape. Here's a guy who believed so fiercely in the temple's religious and political system that he was willing to take lives. Now he's fighting to keep Gentile Christians from being beholden to that same system. For Paul, his investment in their adoption of a grace-by-faith posture is deeply tied to his own stability as an apostle. Think of the recovering alcoholic who would go to the mat for someone else in their 12 step group. They need to see others succeed because that would be a witness to their own hopes of salvation.

Paul did murder because of the Law. He's thinking, "If these stupid fucking Galatians can't keep it together (especially w/ all the help I'm giving them!) then how fucked am I?" He's stuck in prison or he's out in the wilderness or otherwise getting shit on for his work as an apostle. The Galatians success is intimately tied to his own, so much so that he'd effectively scream at them out of his fear. "You FOOLISH Galatians!"

And then he plays to their desire to adopt an identity. He says, "okay, fine. You wanna be jewish? Well, our forefather Abraham had faith and that was credited to him as righteousness." He indicts the Jewish teachers misleading them of misunderstanding their own heritage and he gives the Galatians a chance to buy into that history all the same. He says, passive aggressively "Fine, you wanna be a Jew? Here's how you do it. It has little to do with your dick or your lunch." You can practically see his eyes roll.

But it's the last section that is most interesting for our purposes:
Paul is trying to put a bow on his point, using argumentation. He lays down a principle and then backs it up with scripture, much like how we "proof-text" now. The problem is that Paul does a terrible job of it. For example:

10All who rely on observing the law are under a curse, for it is written: "Cursed is everyone who does not continue to do everything written in the Book of the Law." In a strictly logical sense, that doesn't follow. Relying on the Law curses you, which he backs up by quoting scripture that says NO following the law curses you. Verse 11 kinda works, but the verse from quoted in 12 reads like a non-sequitor. Verse 13 drops in a notion of Christ becoming a curse for us that is backed up by a sliver of scripture and is not at all developed, leaving it nearly meaningless. Now, a good, "saved-by-faith-through-grace" theologian can do some theoretical back flips to make this work, importing notions from other letters and his own sanctification frame work, but he's stopped reading the epistle at that point and he's just reading what he wants to see.

If you really read 10-13, they don't make logical sense. And I contend that isn't a problem.

We see in Paul through those confused and contradictory sentences the struggle of a man attempting to boldly pursue a novel and revolutionary way of life and work. He was so shaped by and invested in his old ways, however, that when he attempts to exhort others to the new way of things, he stumbles all over himself. He's trying so hard to pursue the vision of life and faith bespoken by the Cross, but his old habits sabotage him all the way down to the level of language. His spirit spins against the way he's trying to drive. His desperation to follow Jesus despite himself is communicated to the Galatians (and to us!) through his own frantic rebuking of their missteps.

Paul says, without saying so explicitly here, that our attachment to this new way of doing things is tenuous at best, so I need you to stay strong and true. The deal is that if you do that, I (Paul) will be there for you however I can. Primarily, that means by being with you in the Spirit, cuz these sons-of-bitches keep putting me in prison. And he finally gets that out in verse 14:

He redeemed us in order that the blessing given to Abraham might come to the Gentiles through Christ Jesus, so that by faith we might receive the promise of the Spirit.










I feel just a little less impotent when I do that. Write, I mean. Or teach.

Godspeed.